


livelihood's satisfaction

by thimblesforneverlanders



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Betrayal, F/M, eames past love, extraction, kind of steamy, they don't go all the way though, vague breakup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-04
Updated: 2014-04-04
Packaged: 2018-01-18 03:19:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1413118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thimblesforneverlanders/pseuds/thimblesforneverlanders
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames dreams of a past love, a shade of the woman who disappeared from his life and took his heart with her, but is it only a dream?</p>
            </blockquote>





	livelihood's satisfaction

**Author's Note:**

> Translation: voz'mite menya = take me and moya lyubov' = my love.

* * *

It is a dream.

And Eames knows that. But they are always like this, in some far away place where he had been with her, it is never anywhere new or created; it is some place from his memory _every single time._ And that is dangerously stupid of him to do but it's not like he actually chooses anything  – it just happens.

So, really, he can't exactly judge Cobb when he is no better. Worse even. At least Dom has a plausible excuse for why the same shade of a woman is occupying every dream that he has. His wife dying; a tragedy, that is something worthy of justification.

A broken heart, however, is not.

A hand touches his shoulder, as if she knew that he had been thinking of her, but he does not turn around or give any sign that he has noticed her presence. It is not possible though, with her aroma of lemons and honey swirling into his senses, driving him to paradise at mock twelve.

He remains impassive on the outside with much effort, frustrating him to no end knowing how she is the only one who manages to tear apart the walls he has set up around himself – the _real_ Eames. Not the mask of so many different identities that he has worn for so long to keep people on their toes.

He stares hard out at the ocean. They are in the suite at some exotic island that he remembers she had had the most difficulty pronouncing correctly in her thick Russian accent. It has a huge king sized bed with fluffy, feathered white pillows and a matching comforter, the deep burgundy of the mahogany bed set is exquisite, and a few plush chairs litter the large area. Every thing else is just creamy tan carpeting and walls. The sun sets over the horizon, casting an enchanting orange glow around the room and emanating just enough heat to be comfortable. A light breeze blows in from the balcony, catching the thin white drapes in its dance. The waves crashing down at the beach only add to the vividness of the dream.

Another hand comes to rest on his other shoulder before they glide down his back, going slowly over his tensed shoulder blades and finally snaking around his waist.

"It is beautiful, is it not?" She whispers as her chin sits on his left shoulder, her hands stroking his abdomen, making the muscles tense beneath her touch.

His heart hammers against his ribcage, he can feel her chest against his back and the movement of her hands are causing a stirring in his veins that he has bloody well missed more than he realized. It is not just lust. No, this feeling is one that only comes from his Nina.

Merely the thought of her name – _Antonina Novokoff_ – makes his stomach churn with the same feelings he has been trying to sort out this past year. The heartbreak is still so fresh despite the time. He ignores her question.

"Why did you leave me, Nina?" His voice is low, strained from the tightening in his throat. He turns his face to see her for the first time.

There she is in all her perfection. And it is breathtaking to him. Her blue eyes, as deep as the depth of the ocean, the soft blonde hair that just barely grazes her shoulders, waving in the wind like a wheat field. None of it prepares him to hear his own name being spoken from her sweet, full lips.

"Do you really want to talk about this, Eames?"

He does not – not anymore, at least. But even if he did then his answer would not have changed. The tone of her voice could persuade anyone; she has the ability to make royalty bow down in silence. So instead silence resumes. His eyes shift back to the water.

"Eames." She speaks with such ease, it makes him envious that he struggles for the right words and stammers like a school boy yet she has such a calm demeanor in his presence. Her warm hands cup his face and force him to look at her, and in that moment with the desperate glint in her orbs and the setting feeling so damn _real_ , he forgets any sense of reality. This is his reality right now and he will deal with the consequences afterwards. "Just kiss me." She sighs softly.

He does not give her the chance to ask twice as his lips are on hers and little bolts of electricity pulse through his body as skin touches skin, his hands are everywhere trying to absorb all the curves, softness, and warmth that is purely Nina.

 _His Nina_.

Out of all the women he has ever been with she is the only one who ever took the lead with a libidinous fierceness that had always awakened everything down South. Her fingers begin to swiftly undo the small plastic buttons of his shirt, and he notices how she seems to drink in the image before allowing him to recommence the ravaging of her neck with his mouth, quiet pants of approval escaping her.

 _God,_ he has _missed this._

She turns them around and gracefully lifts herself onto a nearby table after tilting the vase off the edge, tugging him between her open legs and locking her ankles against the small of his back. Her hands slide beneath the hemline of his shirt and she digs her fingers into his hips when his mouth travels across her collar bone and down to her cleavage.

He's not paid any attention to what she is wearing until the moment it becomes a necessity and with a quick glance, he does a double take and sees the light silky white night gown she has donned on. The material is pooled at her waist and the expanse of her legs are visible. Eames takes in every detail on her form, memorizing it for dreams ( _isn't this a dream?_ ) and only stops when she kisses him again, tongue and teeth grazing each other, their bodies so pressed together you could not fit a speck of dust between them.

He groans, low and carnal, when her hips grind into his and they pull apart to catch their breath. He still has his arms secured around her waist, hers are wrapped onto his neck, and their foreheads and noses are touching. This kind of embrace, so clumsily close and heated, is the only thing stopping him from carrying her over to the bed and taking her right then, giving in to the desires that bubble hotly beneath the surface.

Every breath she releases, he inhales and as the fruity scent of her hair intoxicates him further, she finally speaks, murmuring against the side of his mouth. "I'm yours, _voz'mite menya_ – whatever you want."

Eames' eyes move to look up, although she continues to press kisses along his facial hair pebbled jawline, but his blood has now ran cold, any evidence of physical arousal decreasing with each second. The room seems darker, less romantic, and cruel. _This_ is just cruel.

In the six years that he had gradually come to know Nina from work on Extractions, and especially when it came to bedroom rules, never before in their past tryst had she _ever_ given him permission to do whatever he pleased; she was always the aggressor. It just was not in her character to give him, or anyone else for that matter, the reigns.

He grips her wrist in his hands and violently shoves her away, pacing a few feet backwards. If he could even say _her_ , it could be him or her. He shudders at the thought that someone might be tainting his memory of her with a false identity. Who was attempting to Extract something from his mind and how did they know to use _her_ , his only Achilles' Heel?

Her eyes go wide with shock as she slides off the table and he would almost swear that it was his Nina. He can see as a Forger, they had taken great detail in their job. A part of him wonders how they had found out about this place, the only people who had known about their vacation here being himself and Nina, and he most certainly had not spilled the information –

Oh. _No._

What if whoever is behind this had done something to her? He imagines her beaten, raped, or tortured – the possibilities are endless. Eames' vision goes red around the edges, the anger pitting into his gut, and he promises he will _kill_ whoever has laid a finger on her; there is no crevice on Earth that can hide them from him.

He does not wait for them to keep up with the façade and ask what is wrong; his patience seems to thin in the face of danger. "The Nina I knew – _my Nina_ – would never be as submissive as that. And believe it or not, darling, even in my wet dreams she's still the commanding little minx I know and love." Eames smiles despite himself and speaks in a much less playful voice, an obvious threat laced in his cool tone, "Now, clearly you're a Forger. So who do you work for? And what are you doing in my mind?"

She laughs, soft and heavenly, and it sounds so much alike the one that had once been the highlight of his mornings at one point in time that he has to appreciate the work of a fellow Forger. "My dearest, Eames, I am an Architect. You know this. Or has my absence affected your memory as well as your heart?"

His face falls, the smirk fading from his lips. The well known mask he had replaced is once again diminished to the vulnerability that hides underneath. He can not believe it; he refuses to. The concept that _his Nina_ would go as far as this to betray him after shattering his heart by leaving, it can only be to cause him more anguish than she already has, and he has never thought her capable of this extremity of cruelty. What amount of money is worth this?

All at once he feels the heartbreak he has endured from her but amplified. Eames – tough as nails and smart arse Eames – has to bite the inside of his lip to keep it from quivering, his eyebrows pulling together.

"Why?"

Had he asked that out loud or just in his head? He can not tell anymore. The pain is too immense. He had not noticed before but the dream is collapsing, the ocean from below raising at a frightening rate, a once soft breeze has turned into hurricane wind, the cream colored walls are splitting down the middle, bits of dry wall and debris falling from above, but he does not move an inch. He can not will himself to manage anything other than falling to his knees in front of her and grasping her waist with his arms.

"Eames," Nina coos down at him as she caresses his cheek with her palm, her eyes appear pleading and the tone of her voice so kind and tender and vastly unlike the deception she has put him through. He feels nostalgic, this is the real Nina. _His Nina._ "You have no idea how I have missed you." Is it possible that she still cares for him?

She bends to kiss him chastely on the lips. The floor beneath them crumbles away with the dream and Eames hardly hears her say, "It is nothing personal, _moya lyubov'_. It is just business."

**Author's Note:**

> This was written on January 30, 2013 but has since been edited.


End file.
